In 1998, my family at home in Carrantanlass, County Galway, experienced our second Christmas in a row without electricity due to storms. We had Christmas dinner by candlelight at my cousins next door. For about four days, we otherwise congregated in the kitchen, where my Dad had oil lamps lighting. The smoke from the lamps blackened everything so badly that the enormous Pyrenees Mountain dog had to be washed in the bath and my Mam had to repaint the kitchen ceiling when the power eventually came back.

On Stephen’s day, darkness ushered in once again and I sat at the kitchen table with an open copy book and a pen left in front of me. I decided to take them and write down the dialogue going around me, unbeknownst to everyone until they finally caught me out in the end. This was just another symptom of my compulsion to record. Today, while I am at home again in Carrantanlass, I wondered if I had any photographs from that powercut and was tickled to find a photograph of my Mam reading by oil lamp at the kitchen table, the very copy that I used to write the dialogue just visible in the corner of the image. I still have the copybook, too. My handwriting is surprisingly neat, considering I was transcribing so fast; I can’t handwrite that well nowadays, now that all my writing is via phone or laptop.

I love reading back over it now – an entire, still-recognisable family dynamic reeks from the short conversations, including the cats and dogs who inhabited the house as equal as the humans. Thirty new books arrived in the household that Christmas, as gifts: most of us were avid book readers. I’d like to say we still are, but I know smartphone technology has changed how we read –speaking for myself, certainly; we’re more likely to be found with our noses in iPhones as books now. Marx Brothers references abound. My aunt brings the local news, the better of any professional roving reporter: still to this day, my parents need never leave the house to know what’s going on beyond.

Alicia and I sit on benches on either side of the kitchen table. Carmel sits at the head of the table. Aidan sits beside the oil range, which isn’t working due to the powercut. A gas heater is lighting on his other side. Mother is making supper at the gas cooker. Alan, Aaron, and Tomás are in the spare room down the hall. Padraic has just gone home to next door.

Father:

A pain in her leg?

Carmel:

Yeah – crippled with a pain in her leg.

Shure, you won’t be playing anywhere tonight Aidan?

Father:

Why?

Carmel:

Who’d be going out on a night like tonight?

Father:

I wish it was like that.

Carmel:

Endangering their lives tonight. Anyone in tonight should stay in. And that man in Maam Cross had some poor fella in the car with him … Henny’s funeral mass is tonight.

Father:

Tonight?

Carmel:

Yeah, the family want it tonight. Herself mustn’t be great. Sandwiches and all in the Cortoon Inn afterwards.

Father:

God.

Carmel:

And a bus overturned in Achill.

On the electricity. Well, it won’t be back for tonight anyway.

Father:

Oh, ‘twill not.

Carmel:

Them are grand candlestick holders

Father:

Alan got me them for Christmas.

Enter Tomás.

Tomás:

Picking up oil lamp. Can we take this?

Alicia:

No, we’re using it.

Father:

Go on.

Tomás:

‘kay.

Exit Tomás.

Carmel:

Well wasn’t he very thoughtful.

An awful day.

Father:

Shockin’.

Mother:

‘Twas promised.

Enter Aaron.

Aaron:

Any more candles to spare?

Father:

What are ye doing?

Aaron:

Table tennis. A torch or something maybe?

Alicia:

Can’t ye play it up here?

Father:

Don’t go bringing my flashlight down there, I’m telling ye

Carmel:

Looking towards the kitchen window. There’s traffic out as bad and all as it is.

Exit Aaron.

Pause.

Carmel:

Back to old times.

Alicia:

Yeah.

Father:

To Carmel. Have ye candles or what down there?

Carmel:

Candles.

Mother:

Fromconversation with Alicia at the frying pan: If we can keep Adrienne away from the mushrooms.

Adrienne:

What?

Mother:

If we can keep you away from the mushrooms.

Carmel:

Better go before it starts raining again. Goes to hall door. Are ye coming? Notrealising that Padraic left earlier. Shure, I’d say that’s the worst of it over now anyway. I’ll see ye. G’luck.

Exit Carmel through the back door. Long silence. Aidan messing with candlesticks. Mother frying rashers in the pan and wearing headphones. Adrienne scribbling this text. Alicia talking to kitten.

Alicia:

Oooh, Eire’s first Christmas, in the dark!

Pause.

Alicia:

Adrienne, did you count my Sense and Sensibility book?

Adrienne:

Yeah.

Pause.

Alicia:

Eire, do you want to go to the toilet?

Father:

Let him off outside, he’ll be grand.

Huffy silence in offence to this suggestion. Exit Alicia.

Enter Alan.

Alan:

Mam, would it be alright if I drove down to collect John tonight?

Mother:

And how am I supposed to go to mass?

Father:

Wait and see how the weather is before you go making plans.

Pause.

Alan:

Talk to Mam, Dad, she’ll start shouting at ya.

Mother:

Over her earphones. I heard ya!

Alan guffaws.

Enter Alicia.

Alicia:

To cats. Hell-yo!

Alan:

Adrienne, who is this? Stomps across kitchen in manner of Groucho Marx

Adrienne:

Laughing. Groucho!

Exit Alan. He is heard laughing in the hall, probably at Aaron.

Mother:

Have they gas down there or what have they?

Father:

Jays, I dunno.

Pause.

Father:

That £30 was well spent.

Adrienne:

What £30? Oh, the gas heater? Yeah.

Father:

And it nearly gone on that other fella. Satisfied with himself. Good bidding.